


Bullet 309

by therealgloria



Category: Megadeth
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealgloria/pseuds/therealgloria
Summary: “I don’t wanna get paid tomorrow, Junior,” Dave sneers. “I wanna get paid tonight.”





	Bullet 309

**Author's Note:**

> This is depraved. You've been warned. Originally written for Ficmas.

I’m woken by the screech of a car alarm, and all my eyes can see is complete darkness. I try to sit up and right away bang my head on something. Swearing, I fumble for the light, rolling out of bed as I do so.

My fingers find the switch and flick it, then travel to my hair and rake through it. The apartment is filled with shaky yellow light, illuminating the cause of the slight throb in my head – the goddamn hanging lightbulb, which is still swinging. I shuffle around the room, yanking on some jeans and stuffing the hem of my t-shirt into the waistband. I’d kill for some coffee, but I’ve got no grounds and no pot to make it in. I grab a pack of Winstons and my key instead, and head out the door. 

There are no sounds in the hallway, except for the whizzing noises of cars in the street down below. It’s nine, still relatively early, so most of the nightlife hasn’t yet awoken. I creep quietly down the stairs. I really want to avoid a confrontation with Maria, the landlady, seeing as I haven’t paid rent in three months. Though I don’t think she’ll kick me out this week – she likes my dimples – there’s still some small, suffocating ethical voice in my head, letting me know that I should cough up anyway. And I would, if I only could. She’s not the only one that hasn’t gotten her dough from me this month. I shiver and jump down the last step and venture out of the stairwell hall, emerging into the California air.

It’s summer, so a sliver of fading orange light is still hanging in the air over the street, and I light up and walk down the sidewalk. The sounds of the city fill my ears. I scratch my forearm with one hand and manage my cigarette with the other, watching the working girls headed to their street corners and the dealers headed to their blocks. If I had any cash, I’d score and pick up a girl at one of the bars I haunt. You learn pretty quickly in this city to pay for dope, not for girls. Instead, I head towards the heart of the it, ashing my cigarette on the bottom of my once-white sneaker. 

The lights get brighter and the noises get louder the farther I go into town. I stop and say hello to Rick, one of my drinking buddies. He doesn’t look too good.

“Hey man,” he says, patting me gingerly on the back. “How’s it goin’?”

“It’s okay,” I reply, examining his complexion and dark eye circles. 

“What’s with you, catch something?”

“Dopesick.” He itches the back of his neck, chomping on a wad of gum. “I’m completely broke, dude. At this point it’s either kick it for a little while or get kicked out of my place plus assaulted by Steve.”

I feel a little sick myself at those words. And his next comment doesn’t help.

“Hey, by the way, I heart you’re in a bit of a tight spot with Dave.”

“Oh?” I say, starting down the street. We turn the corner from Cory onto the Strip.

“Yeah,” Rick pants, following me. He looks somewhere between concerned and resigned. “You don’t want to go there, David, from what I’ve heard.”

I bite my thumbnail. “I know that. What kind of tight spot did you hear about, exactly?” I ask, tugging my smokes from my pocket. We stop at a crosswalk.

“You know, money spot,” Rick is hovering at my shoulder, still chomping on his gum. “It sounded like you owe him kind of a good amount.”

I don’t say anything. We cross, with me puffing desperately on my cigarette and Rick itching the back of his neck.

“Listen, I’m worried about you man. But seriously, one of Dave’s other customers said that at the end of July Dave’s gonna track down everybody that owes him. They made it sound like he’s gonna get paid one way or another, too. What’s today’s date?”

My heart stops. “It’s the thirty-first, Rick.”

“Oh.” Rick looks even sicker than he did a few minutes ago. We stand in silence in front of the Rainbow. He’s looking at me like I’m the one going through withdrawals, which I probably will be soon. 

“Well, that’s it,” I clear my throat. “I’m dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Rick protests, looking doubtful. “I mean, just skip rent this time around or something.”

I shake my head, lighting up another cigarette. “Can’t. I’ve already got three months’ worth on my head. I’ve got nothing, man.”

“Well, I’d loan you,” Rick looks at me pityingly. “But like I said, I’m broke...”

“It’s cool,” I say, waving my hand. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You sure?” he asks, looking skeptical. 

“Of course. I appreciate the words, though.”

“Yeah,” he glances up and down the busy street and spits his gum into the planter by the curb. “I’m gonna head home and, uh, sweat this out. It’s gonna get real ugly, real fast. See you around, dude.”

“See you,” I say, watching him walk away.

After Rick leaves, I transport myself to the alley between the Rainbow and the apartment complex squished up next to it and start chain-smoking the rest of my cigarettes. Even though denial is a specialty of mine, I’m going to have a hard time getting around this one. 

Dave Mustaine doesn’t mess around, and I’ve heard that those who cross him don’t end up in very good situations. I’m out of luck. My menial job at the diner is nowhere near enough to support a junkie lifestyle. I could borrow money, but all of my friends are just like me – smacked out without a penny to their names. No, my best bet is to lay low tonight and pray that Dave’s main priorities lie elsewhere.

Pushing up off of the wall, I brush off my shoulder and start walking. I’m not going to hang out near one of the hottest spots on the Strip. I’m not going home, either, because Mustaine knows where I live. And I’m sure he’ll have no reservations about kicking down the door, if it comes to that. Instead, I wander down the brick passageway, kicking a lump of concrete and trying to recall how I got myself into this mess.

I first started buying from Dave when I saw him on a corner on Sunset – I don’t remember which one is his. I had just come out of a gig, it was dark, and I was loaded on a whole bunch of different things. He was leaning against a streetlight with his arms crossed, blatantly staring at me. There was something extremely menacing about him. But – I’ll admit it – he was also one of the best-looking people that I’d ever seen. So being high, stupid, and curious, I went over to him. I’d never seen hair like that. It looked like the flames underneath the spoon. 

I don’t know what I was thinking – something impractical and ridiculous, probably. I wanted to know Dave Mustaine. Instead, Dave Mustaine unsettled me and took my money to boot. It figures.  
I light my second to last Winston and slip the other one into my back pocket. I’m prowling around a network of alleyways snaking through apartment complexes, definitely away from the big clubs now. I am, quite literally, out on the streets.

I should have asked Rick where he heard about Dave’s collection rampage. Rick’s not very well in the head at the moment – it’s entirely plausible he made a mistake. I’m probably wandering around these damp city crevices for absolutely nothing. Besides, what’s the worst Dave could do to somebody that owes him? Something pretty damn bad, I answer myself. Although he doesn’t really seem like the type to kill anyone, he’s got a nasty temper. Who knows what could happen if he flew off the handle?

I veer to the right to avoid a dumpster, the stench nearly gagging me. There are puddles of stagnant water polka-dotting my path and I zigzag to avoid them. I follow my alley until I emerge under the yellow streetlights in a less busy part of town, souped up cars rattling down the pavement, no doubt headed towards the heart of the city- but besides the normal sounds of apartments, it’s relatively quiet. I sit down on a bench in front of a car repair shop and smoke my last cigarette. Closing my eyes and exhaling, I allow my head to loll a bit against the brick wall behind me. The night air is cooling down, turning from a California summer day to summer night. Infinitely more room for debauchery, and there’s no doubt that the Strip is teeming with just that. I open my eyes and look around me a second time. The entire street is pooled with darkness – I am directly under the only lamppost. I pick my head up slowly. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. I feel very odd.

I’m being watched.

I stand up very slowly, turning my head from side to side. Nothing. All I see is shadows and the smoke from my cigarette. I turn and start walking down the boulevard, slowly at first and then faster. My back prickles and my stomach jumps violently – there are footsteps behind me. I pick up speed until I’m almost running, reason and logic utterly abandoning me.

“David!” 

I jerk to a stop and turn around, my breath flooding back into my body. The guy hurrying towards me is Cam, a friend of mine and Rick’s. I laugh unsteadily and lean against the brick wall behind me. 

“Oh, god.”

“David, what the hell?” Cam finally catches up and leans against the wall next to me, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Why ya running like a scalded cat?”

I could hug him, I’m so glad to see him. “Sorry,” I say. I’m almost ashamed at how terrified I felt just a few seconds ago. “Sorry, I just freaked out.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” he pants, motioning for a cigarette.

“Sorry,” I say again, “I just smoked the last one.”

“Oh, okay,” Cam squints at me. “You alright? You seem kind of jumpy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. I sound unconvincing even to myself. “Yeah, I’m a little jumpy. You know how things get at night.”

“I guess.”

“What I really need is a drink, man. I’m too jittery.”

“That’s what I was trying to ask you, dude. I’m just getting ready to go to a party at Todd’s place. Want to come?” Cam looks at me hopefully.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say. “I was kinda trying to lay low.”

“Oh, it’s a chill thing,” he tells me. “There’s not that many of us. It’s mostly guys you know, I think. C’mon, David, we’ll calm you down, it’ll be fun.”

I sigh. “A drink would be great right now.”

“Yeah, come along,” Cam shoves me gently in the shoulder, pointing me down the street. “He only lives a couple blocks down.”

I feel a little better walking next to someone familiar, but that hunted feeling is still lingering. It must being showing, too because Cam’s looking at me funny. 

“You’re acting awful strange, buddy.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“You need a fix or something?” He’s squinting at me again.

“Yeah. All outta money though. And I owe.”

“Rough. Sorry, man.”

As far as I know, Cam kicked his own habit about a half a year ago, but god knows it’s hard to stay on the straight and narrow in a place like this. 

“Yeah, well. I get paid tomorrow. Just gotta get through tonight undetected.”

“Could you pay it off after the check rolls in? How much do you owe?” he asks. We turn the street corner.

“Uh, kind of a lot. Tomorrow won’t bring in enough but it’s a start,” I tell him. 

“Gotcha.”

Cam swings open a peeling turquoise door and we head up the first flight of the stairs. 

“Todd’s on the third floor.”

I nod. My back pocket feels empty without my cigarettes. The apartment building is nicer than mine, with carpet on the stairs. Sticky, faded carpet, but carpet nonetheless. We climb in silence. On the third stairwell, I feel the bassline in my sneakers.

“Cam, I thought you said this was a small party.”

“Well, it’s pretty small for a Friday night, David.”

I sigh. 

We walk down the hallway to apartment 309, and Cam swings open the door.

There’s a tiny entrance hall piled with purses and leather jackets. The music is coming from the living room and a new song’s just started – the slow, bluesy crush of AC/DC’s Night Prowler. How appropriate. In spite of the light and reasonable security of Todd’s, it gives me the creeps.

I pull off my sweatshirt and lay it on top of the pile of slick black fabric. I’m wearing the only clean shirt I had – a black Harley Davidson t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Unlike my place, it’s warm enough in this building to wear. I follow Cam down the hallway and into the doorway of the living room, where Todd intercepts us. 

“Hey guys!” He greets the two of us with one hand and holds a beer with the other, grinning. “How’s it going?”

Pretty shitty, I think. 

“It’s good, it’s good,” Cam says, slapping him good-naturedly on the back. “You? How’s the party?”

“Good. We’ve got some fun guys here. Go check it out,” he tells us, indicating the rest of the apartment with a jerk of the head. I give his dark ponytail a tug as we pass.

“Nice, dude. Very metal.”

“I know!” He gives me a friendly punch in the arm. “Don’t judge me, Bangs Boy.”

Cam and I just laugh and make our way to the action. There are two sofas, both packed with people. The rest of the outfit is sitting on the floor and on the little coffee table, smoking a couple of joints and talking. MTV’s playing on mute. Cam, ever the social butterfly, is immediately welcomed by several of the guys drinking down on the tile. As for me, I stand awkwardly until Todd swoops in.

“Hey, David. Having a good summer?”

I nod, scratching the back of my neck. “Yeah, it’s been pretty good. Money’s low, but other than that, it’s good. I mean, at least I’ve got a job.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking a gulp of his beer. “Where are you living nowadays? That job gotten you a nice place?”

“No,” I laugh, “hardly nice. I’ve only got a dish-washing job at this little diner. My place works. It’s tiny and sort of grubby, but you know, it works.”

Todd’s newly-minted cocaine dealer. His job has certainly allowed him to upgrade from the slums.

“I see,” he takes another swallow of beer. “Why don’t you go get a drink? There’s plenty in the fridge.”

“Okay,” I agree, grinning gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” he winks and turns back to the rest of his company.

The Bon Scott’s ominous crooning is still vibrating through the apartment as I move through the doorway into the kitchen. The fridge is directly in front of me, white and a little rusty. Smiling, I crack open the door and double up, poking around the door rack – there are at least four different brands of booze to choose from, which seems like an unimaginable luxury. I grab a Heineken and pop the top before straightening up and taking a long drink. 

I nudge the fridge shut with my hip and take another sip before realizing there’s someone in a chair beside the phone on the wall. My eyes go from the bottom up – ratty sneakers, blue jeans, blue plaid shirt and – 

Flaming orange hair. 

Dave smiles, crossing his arms. “Hey, David.”

*

I just stare. Instead of the panic I felt on the street, I feel ice-cold resignation settling into the pit of my stomach.

“How’s your summer been, David?” Dave smirks, swiveling slightly in his chair. “How are you, David? Doing okay, David?”

In spite of the dread, I scowl.

“Who was that guy, your boyfriend?”

“No,” I huff, leaning against the counter. “Why’re you in such a bad mood?”

“I tend to get that way when people owe me money,” Dave hops off of the stool, scowling right back.

I get up off of the counter.

He takes a couple of steps towards me, still smirking.

“What?” I say defensively.

“David – you know what, I don’t like calling you David. It feels like I’m talking to myself. You’re more of a babyface. I’m going to call you Junior.”

I feel like a pet being christened. 

“Anyway, Junior. I’m not going to make trouble. I really don’t want to, honestly. But I need you to pay me. You’ve been putting it off for a while.”

My tongue feels dense and clumsy in my mouth. 

Dave cocks a dark eyebrow. 

“I – uh, yeah, I know. I have been putting it off.”

“Yeah, Junior.”

I frown. “Don’t call me that.”

Dave takes several more steps towards me. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, don’t call me that.”

He takes two more steps. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

God, his eyes are dark. I don’t say anything.

“Junior, I just want the money you owe me. I’m not trying to hurt you, man. I gotta make a living too.”

That statement makes him sound unusually sincere. It would be so nice, I think, if I could just pay the guy. But I can’t. I literally can’t. 

“I know, Dave. I get it. But... I don’t have the money. I’m sorry. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. I get paid tomorrow –”

“I don’t wanna get paid tomorrow, Junior,” Dave cuts me off. The relaxed expression melts off his face, morphing back into the usual sneer. “I wanna get paid tonight.”

“Well, I can’t pay.”

“I don’t think you’re getting this,” Dave takes another step. He’s close now, close enough for me to examine his ruddy eyelashes in detail. “I said, I’m getting paid tonight.”

“Dave,” I say, “I literally have no money to give you. I don’t know what you want me to do. Go ahead and shoot me or whatever. It won’t do you any good, I don’t even own a wallet.”

He shakes his head slowly, arms crossed. “I’m not going to shoot you.”

I feel a certain measure of relief at that.

“But I am getting paid.”

I look at him exasperatedly. And then – 

“One way or another, I’m getting paid.”

And then I get it.

I just stare.

“What?” he smirks. “Figure it out yet?”

“Dave... no.”

He frowns. “Listen, Junior, I may not be able to shoot you for the sake of the dough, but I will shoot you for the sake of frustration.”

“You wouldn’t do something that stupid,” I say, the cold dread freezing my legs as Dave takes another step towards me. He’s taller than me, and I have to look up to meet his eyes. I don’t like it.

“What’s it going to be?”

I look past his shoulder. This is not happening.

“It’s either this or I’m getting the gun. Don’t think I won’t do it. It won’t be the first time.”

“Dave...” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

“What?” he smiles. “Your choice, sweetcheeks.”

I’m nearly choking. I can’t say it.

“Yes?” Dave smirks mercilessly. He’s enjoying this. Bastard. 

I don’t say anything. 

“You know, they say silence means consent,” Dave lurches forward and grabs my arm, already walking ahead.

He drags me into the living room, where some form of strip poker is in full effect. Everyone’s drunk and half nude. Todd and Cam wave, one missing his shirt and one missing his pants, respectively – too off their nuts at the moment to realize what’s going on. Shit. They’re probably just glad I made a friend so that I can stop following them around.

I grit my teeth and walk after Dave, whose grip on my arm is becoming painful. 

“Do you have to hold it that hard? Jesus.”

“Stop being a fucking pansy, Junior.”

He pulls me abruptly inside of one of the dark rooms branching off of the hall and slams the door. I hear the lock click.

Oh, God.

“You know what this is, right?” Dave’s voice is hard and condescending. “You know what I’m asking?”

I swallow thickly. “I think so.”

“You think, or you know?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Dave?” the cold has migrated from my stomach and legs and is spreading steadily through my body, freezing me as I stand by the door. I’m almost shaking. I don’t want to hear the answer.

“Sure, I’ll tell you.” Two hands on my chest push me down onto the mattress. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. “Tonight I’m going to have what I’ve been waiting for for four months. You’re going to suck my cock. Ever done anything like that before?”

I’m sweating. This is not happening. 

“Silence is consent, but I’m going to ignore that fact and take this as a no. Even better.”

“Dave...” I croak.

“What?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Sorry, man.” He doesn’t sound remotely sorry. “It’s not my fault you can’t manage your money. Your mistake, and I get the benefits. You invested in me. It’s just how it goes.”

I feel sick. I’m going to throw up.

“And so...” his voice is suddenly hoarse. “Now you have to pay up.”

I hear the rusty sound of a zipper and the swish of denim against skin. I hear his shirt hit the floor too. Wild panic is rapidly mixing with dread in the pit of my churning stomach. I press my fingertips to my temples, where I can hear my pounding heart.

Dave lies down on the bed, stretching out luxuriously. “Whenever you’re ready.”

My skin is feverish. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, praying to wake up from this terrible nightmare. But Dave’s breathing is still there. It sounds labored, almost... anticipatory.

The fastest way out is through.

I move closer to him and hover my chin over his knee. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to think.

I move slowly, my legs slack on the bed and my torso propelled by my hands. I’m half crawling towards him. Crawling. 

I rest my chin on his thigh, the cotton of his boxers both a comfort and an impediment to what I have to do. His breathing is fast now. I gingerly hook my fingers the elastic waistband, close my eyes, and tug. They slide down his legs easily, and I pull them all the way off. Dave Mustaine is naked and waiting for my mouth on his cock. Don’t think, David. Don’t think. The fastest way out is through.

Determined, I move myself back to his thighs and grab it.

It’s big. Not enormous, but far from average. Of course Mustaine doesn’t have a shrimp dick. That would make my life much too easy. 

He makes a noise when I touch it. I try to pretend it’s mine. Just another jerk off in the shower. The next part is considerably more difficult. Through, just get through. 

I stick out my tongue gingerly and lick.

He twitches.

I reluctantly open my mouth and swirl my tongue around the engorged head. It’s already leaking, smearing onto my chin. Dave tastes like skin and salt, and he smells like the city does.  
I close my eyes and try to keep from gagging. It’s just a blowjob. A blowjob or a bullet.

I try to imagine what I would want done to me if I were on the receiving end. I steel myself and move my head down farther, encasing another two inches in my mouth before sliding back up and flicking my tongue on the bottom of the head. Dave thrashes at that, and I grip his hips to keep from being bucked off. I do it again and he moans, twisting. 

I brace myself and start to bob up and down, enveloping the same two to three inches in my mouth repeatedly while twisting my tongue around the head. His cock pulses in my mouth and leaks more, the warm liquid running out of the sides of my mouth and down his dick. I nearly choke again and force myself to continue. 

Dave is loud. He’s whipping around and making noises somewhere between a deep moan and a growl. I try to listen to him instead of focusing on the taste of salt on my tongue and the hard heat of his flesh. I continue dipping up and down. I listen to his groans, hisses, and snarls – all emitted in a baritone. 

I feel distinctly hot.

Dave’s cock pulses once, twice – and just when I’m sure it’s almost over, he roars and pushes me away. 

I half stumble and half fall off of the bed, landing on my knees. All the gags I’ve been repressing hit me now, and I retch over and over, spitting onto the carpet. My throat is having a mutiny. I heave continually. I sound awful.

A hand twists in my hair and yanks me painfully up from my crouch, and I moan in pain. I’m shoved back onto the bed, where I wipe my tongue with the back of my hand.

“Little shit,” Dave snarls. “Letting me think it was your first time. You bat for both teams, eh, David?”

“No,” I rasp. 

"Sure." Dave jerks his head, his hair soaring out behind him. Aggression is in every line of his body. "I changed my mind. I don't just want you to suck my cock."

I'm trembling, still fighting the ghost feeling of hot, hard flesh between my lips. 

Dave kneels on the bed and grabs me by the hair again. I'm too shaken to fight back and I let him thrust me roughly against the headboard. 

"I'm going to suck yours."

My eyes fly open in a panic and I start squirming as he rips open my jeans and pulls them off. I don't want his mouth on me. I don't like the way his hand is wound in my long hair or the sharp sting in my scalp when he pulls it. I don't like the pure ruthlessness that he's using to pull off my boxers with one hand and bend my head back with the other. My cock is definitely not twitching. I almost groan from guilt and self-disgust. 

"Are you listening, Junior?" Dave snarls. 

I can only gasp, half from pain and half from the shock of everything around me.

"This is how you're paying me instead. I want you to be loud. I want you to scream. We're going to make pretend. Do you understand?" His voice is growly and low. Again, I can only make sounds like a fish out of water. 

Dave's mouth attacks me, his full lips sliding wetly and smoothly over the head of my dick. It's so warm and slick on the inside that I cry out involuntarily. His tongue licks slowly up and down the underside as the slippery heat of his cheeks hollow and caress the sides - my cock is throbbing. 

After exploring the length of me with his tongue, Dave ducks his head and begins to move fluidly up and down, the hot wetness of his mouth rubbing rapidly along the hard flesh of my cock. No teeth. Just lips and cheeks and tongue. I am nearly howling. An almost unbearable burning is already spreading rapidly from my feet and shooting through my thighs. I feel myself throbbing - once, twice -

And then cool air hits my dripping cock, and I moan for the pain of being unfulfilled, a sort of spasm wracking my body. Dave has got me prostrate on the bed. 

"Great acting, David," he hisses, deliberately wiping his tongue with his palm so that I can see. "Get up."

My legs are like jelly. I unsteadily make my way to my feet and Dave circles me like an alpha wolf about to go in for the kill. 

"Remember the rules?"

I don't say anything. My hair is sticking to my back from the sweat. 

"I'm going to take that as a yes." Dave steps right up against me, his still raging hard-on grinding into my bare leg. I almost retch again.  
"Take off your shirt."

We are eye to eye with each other for a half of a second before I grit my teeth and pull the damp black cotton over my head. My erection is painful and heavy between my legs.

"Mmm." Dave's hand drifts from my shoulder to my pec, giving a sharp twist to my right nipple. The pain makes me inhale sharply.

"Turn around."

I swallow hard and do as he asks.

His hand runs down the muscles of my back, too heavy to be admiring. Instead, I feel like a piece of meat being inspected before purchase and consumption. 

When his rough fingertips reach the top of my ass, I squeeze every muscle of my body.

"No."

"Don't. Tell. Me. No."

Dave punctuates each word by sinking his nails into my skin and dragging them across the small of my back an inch at a time. My eyes water. The tension in my body grows - I feel as if I'm collapsing in on myself.

"Loosen up, Junior - there's still a bullet with your name on it." 

Dave knocks me onto the bed yet again. This time, he swings a leg over me, straddling my calves. I grimace into the mattress.  
Newly wet with saliva, a finger traces down the middle and slips in.

I hate this. This is no blowjob. This is ugly and uncomfortable and possibly the most violated I have ever felt in my life. The feverish sweats and shakes start up again, contracting my muscles. I would cry if I wasn't so disgusted.

Dave isn't gentle, quickly adding another finger. I'm doing everything I can to relax - my body's resistance is making it feel like my skin is tearing, a searing, shooting pain through my lower body. I won't sob, but my eyes are watering again.

I can only concentrate on not throwing up over the side of the mattress until I feel Dave's sharp pinch on the back of my neck. "Whatever I do to you, you're going to like it. You're going to put on the best damn act you ever have and act like you love every second of what I'm about to do to you." I give a moan and a pant, half genuine from the pain. 

"Give me something to work with, Junior," Dave croons, holding his hand in front of me.

I spit viciously into his hand, trying to imagine it's his sick, dirty face.

I hear him laugh softly. It's a dangerous sound.

And then there is something plunging into me, spearing me onto him. I howl. It hurts like a hot knife.

Any sliver of compassion Dave has shown up until now is gone. I realize now, in a haze of agony, just how kind of him it was to make any shadow of an attempt to prepare me. It's also only now that I truly realize what a mistake it is to do anything towards Dave Mustaine viciously - even if it's spitting in his hand so he can fuck you up the ass.

I whimper, but I doubt Dave can hear it. He is slamming into me over and over, growling and grunting like a wild animal. I join the chorus, almost instinctively crying out - groaning from the pain in my body. There is nothing pleasurable about this pain. 

Anger courses through me. I hate him. I shove back against him. Fight back.

Dave immediately gets a handful of my hair again, yanking and tugging. I yelp as he pulls my head back, dragging me into a crouch and almost into his lap, exposing my neck - the licks beginning as long and languid and becoming a feverish tornado on my skin, short and fast, sucking and biting. I am in so much pain. One of his arms wraps around my torso and the other travels between my legs.  
What little remains of my arousal is rapidly brought back to life in Dave's skilled hand - he massages the head and rubs the length of me between his slick fingers. I nearly cry from shame, pain, and desire. He's still ramming into me, again and again, his breath fiery on my neck. 

Although the pain is unimaginable, the pounding combined with Dave's fingers is beginning to wake that burning sensation. It sears my skin, inside and outside. My back involuntarily arches and sinks, and if he wanted loud, I am definitely being loud now. I keen and moan and howl, gasping for breath. The burning is making me thrash, I am burning up, being sacrificed in the most brutal funeral pyre, and Dave is going deeper and deeper and deeper and his hand is moving faster and faster and faster and I feel his huge cock strike something incinerating inside of me and I am being consumed by the flames, I am combusting -

I explode with a scream, spraying my stomach and the sheets in front of me. A bellow comes from behind me as I am suddenly empty - and my back is being covered in something hot and thick. I am shaking for the thousandth time, coming down from a violent orgasm and fighting the urge to lose all the bile in my body in the trashcan by the nightstand. My hair is sweaty and in my eyes.

In the wake of all the screaming, there is silence. Come drips down my back like melted ice cream. I hear only my own halting breathing and my pulse pounding in my ears. The room is spinning. I will not faint. I will not faint. I clutch the headboard in a nauseous, dirty daze.  
I feel sick and the time slips by. Before I know what's happened, Dave has his jeans and sneakers pulled on, and his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He's rummaging around for something. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on deep, heaving breaths. 

And then I hear an unmistakable clink of metal on metal.

I look up slowly, disbelieving. Sure enough, there’s the silver glint of a pistol in the light coming in through the window. His dick was in me sixty seconds ago, and now he's gonna shoot me.  
I close my eyes again. It can't hurt any worse than getting fucked in the ass.

I hear a rattling sound. Instead of a piece of metal tearing through my lifeblood and flesh, it's flung against my chest. The little nub of steel bites. 

"I told you there was a bullet with your name on it."

Dave smirks.

"See you next month, Junior."


End file.
